


Everything That Isn’t Me

by Juvinadelgreko



Series: the Aftermath [4]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Angst, Depression, F/M, I repeat angst, My attempt to answer why Oliver won’t grow his hair back, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-11-07 21:33:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17968460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Juvinadelgreko/pseuds/Juvinadelgreko
Summary: Oliver still hasn’t truly let go of his time in prison, or rather, it hasn’t let go of him.





	Everything That Isn’t Me

**Author's Note:**

> This fic deals with Oliver’s mental health as a result of Slabside, and attempts to answer questions about his interactions with Felicity and his appearance in canon. All of Oliver’s experiences are based off my own. This fic was incredibly cathartic for me to write and I hope you all enjoy it. 
> 
> Cheers, June

Oliver wanted to grow it back. He saw the poorly concealed mournfulness in Felicity’s gaze when she looked at his buzz cut. She was a  _ huge  _ fan of his long hair, and he was a huge fan of making his wife happy, especially while she was carrying his child, but he just— _ couldn’t.  _ The feeling of even just a little extra fuzz on his head made him nauseous and had him reaching for his razor before he could form a coherent thought. 

 

The thing was, Slabside still clung to him, a ball and chain that weighed on his every step, every thought. It had been three months since his release, but he just couldn’t shake the hollow chill of fear and sorrow that had clung to him since Samanda Watson had cuffed him. Not only had he failed his family horribly, but the pure misery of Slabside had left a gouge on his soul. Years of practice had made it only slightly difficult to hide the fog of depressive disconnect he’d felt from his emotions since his return from Felicity. It was as if his mind was still in prison despite his body being free. Hell, he could barely look his wife in the eyes for fear that everything roiling inside him would bubble over. Rationally, he knew that he could tell Felicity anything. But talking to her now, about  _ his  _ pain, when he’d caused her so much—it felt wrong. He knew it was unhealthy, knew it was a regression into the shell of a man he’d been upon his return home—but the alternative swamped him in guilt. So he paced through his days, going through the motions of being her husband, William’s father, an SCPD Deputy, the Green Arrow. He could barely look her in the eye. 

 

_ Are you okay, hon?  _ She’d asked him that every day for two weeks after he’d come home. 

 

_ Why not grow it back?  _ She’d asked him more than a few times. 

 

_ Work going okay?  _ She asks when he comes home and slumps against the door, exhausted. 

 

Despite all the evidence to the contrary, Oliver hopes that if he just waits it out, he’ll wake up one day without feeling crushed under the weight of depression, that everything will get better. But things don’t get better. There’s the night that Felicity goes to Central City to help Iris and Barry with something, and he spends an hour on the shower floor, numb. There’s the morning that it takes Felicity thirty minutes to convince him to get up and be on time for work. His head is barely in the green leather when he puts it on. Rationally, he knows that he’s not in the driver’s seat of his life, and yet he feels no desire to get back in it. 

 

That is, until she tells him. 

 

_ Oliver, I’m pregnant.  _

 

There’s joy in her words, but there’s also  _ terror.  _ Electric, white hot terror that  _ shocks  _ something inside him. His wife needs hope and support, and he can’t give it to her broken. Oliver’s known since Lian Yu that needs help, therapy of some kind, but for the first time in his life he  _ wants it.  _ Felicity says something to the effect of not wanting him to carry his insecurities related to the pregnancy alone, but he barely hears it. Because she  _ needs  _ him. Felicity needs her husband, not a shell of him. And...he wants his life back. He wants to feel  _ warm  _ again. He wants to feel close to Felicity the way he used to. And he wants  _ to have this baby with her.  _

 

It’s what gives him the courage to sit down with her the next morning and  _ talk.  _

 

———

 

“This is something we should’ve talked about a long time ago.” 

 

Her stomach turns when those words leave his mouth. But she gives him the floor. 

 

“Since Slabside, I’ve felt this...disconnect. From myself. From you.” He pauses. “It’s like a fog that I keep hoping will go away that just won’t.” His throat burns as he tells her, “Felicity, I think I’m depressed.” And as he says it, he realizes that it isn’t a new thing. He knows that depression often goes hand-in-hand with PTSD, and that what he just said is merely giving a name to something he’s felt before yet hadn’t truly understood until now. “If it means anything, I think that’s why I can’t grow back my hair. I’m not truly free of Slabside. And last night I realized that if I want to be, I have to make it happen for myself. I can’t just wait for things to get better. My family needs me, and I want to be happy again. I’ve had enough of being miserable.  _ It’s not who I am anymore.”  _

 

Felicity is silent for some time. And then she says, “I think you’re right. It makes sense. I’ve felt it too, Oliver—it’s like you’re there, but you’re  _ not.  _ Something inside you still hurts, that much is obvious. And I’m very proud of you for admitting it, but I’m even more proud of you for admitting that you need help. I know how averse you’ve been to it, and that it takes courage to acknowledge it. You’ve said that I’ve helped you a lot, and I want to always support you. But Oliver, I’m not a therapist. There’s only so much I can do. And I think we can I agree that you need more than I can give you.” When she’s done speaking, there are tears in his eyes. She picks up his hand and kisses his knuckles. “I love you,” she whispers, smiling encouragingly at him. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry I’ve been bugging you about your hair. That’s your choice, not mine.”

 

Oliver appreciates the sentiment, considering his last two buzz cuts had been done without his consent. A weight lifts from his heart, the way it always does when he confides in her. But worry still prickles at him. 

 

“Can you help me find someone good?” Oliver asks her. 

 

“Yeah, of course I will. We can start looking after you get home tonight, hm?” 

 

He nods. Hesitantly, Oliver asks her, “Will you come with me the first time?” 

 

“If you want me to. It won’t upset me if you want to go alone. And if I’m being honest, a little therapy would probably help both of us.” 

 

————

 

“That was...surprisingly helpful.” 

 

His and Felicity’s joined hands swing lazily between them as they walk from Dr. Muller’s office together under the cover of a warm spring night. After an hour of searching, they’d found the kindly, middle-aged female doctor in an inconspicuous office on the edge of Starling. She’d pointed out a great deal of things that they’d both needed to hear. 

 

“And…” Felicity yawns, “draining.” 

 

She’s not wrong. He hadn’t expected therapy to be a cakewalk, but he hadn’t expected to feel so... _ drained.  _ In a good way. He felt...cleaned out. And judging by the hint of a smile teasing her face as they walk, she’s feeling similar. 

 

Later that night, as they’re drifting off, Felicity looks up him from where her head rests on his chest. 

 

“We’re gonna be okay, baby.” 

 

And when he looks back at her, she can see in his eyes that he believes it. 

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: JuvinaDelgreko


End file.
